Tongue
by madelinesticks
Summary: Will's mind wanders and Hannibal notices.


Will's imaginings could be increasingly graphic, with whatever time passed. Any little thing could distract him, send him into a spiraling mess of fantasies and interests and thoughts. And _damn_, did Hannibal _distract_ him.

The doctor did it without even thinking about it. It could be the littlest of things, like the way he tended to stroke over papers on his desk, or the way he gripped at glasses and bottles. Will could just get so distracted by his hands, imagining those hands on his skin, at his throat, on his chest, fuck it all, on his _cock._

And damn, Hannibal's mouth was distracting too. He was so precise about when he ate, and his lips were just so _pretty. _

Right now, Will was staring at Hannibal's hands, his eyes occasionally darting to the slight spread of his legs. Will swallowed, worrying his lip under his teeth.

"_Will." _Will jerked out of his fantasies with wide eyes and newly parted lips, surprised. Hannibal's expression implied that he'd been talking at Will for a little while.

"I- sorry, I was-"

"Thinking?" Hannibal supplied when Will trailed off and couldn't quite think how to finish the sentence.

"Uh, yes."

"Your eyes tend to wander, do they not?" Will swallowed again, concentrating on the leg of the table, at the way its foot dug just a little into the carpet on the floor.

"I, er, well-"

"Will." Will glanced up. Hannibal had his head tilted slightly to the side, a slight quirk to his lips. "I could offer you- a taste." There was an odd pause to the words, implying significance that Will must have been imagining. His mouth went dry all of a sudden, his eyes widening just a little.

His eyes looked to Hannibal's neck, not wanting to catch his eyes. But then, the attention of his eyes was caught again, by a slow, deliberate spread of Hannibal's legs, further than before. Will stared at the slight bulge there, where the fabric of Hannibal's tailored trousers didn't quite hide it.

An embarrassing sound gurgled into the room, and only after a few oddly suspended moments did Will realize it had come from his own throat. "Will. Please." It wasn't a begging word, it wasn't desperate or even wanting. It came _politely_, as if Hannibal was giving Will some permission he didn't really need.

Perhaps that was true.

Will threw himself from the chair, moving across the room and dropping to his knees at Hannibal's feet, eyes still taken with the slight bulge there. He reached forwards without daring to look at Hannibal's face, unbuckling his belt and pulling it aside with impatience, dropping it onto the floor next to him.

Hannibal made a sound when Will managed to get his shaking hands on the zip of his trousers, a short, quiet sound. Will did not hear that sound again. When Will finally pulled himself forwards, dipped his head and took the head of Hannibal's cock in his mouth, the doctor gave a long, low hum.

After that, he was quiet. Initially, Will thought that he was doing something wrong - and Will had had practice and this had worked before so why…? - but then he noticed the careful, tightening grip of Hannibal's hands on the arms of the chair, as if to stop those beautiful fingers from tangling in Will's hair.

Will had, amazingly, not considered that thought before. Now, he _craved _it. He pulled back, opening his mouth, his lips stained wet with saliva and _Hannibal_ to beg for it, but Hannibal immediately grabbed his hair and pressed his head back.

Will moaned around Hannibal's cock, and the hand tightened, _gloriously, _and if Will could properly breathe it would be fast and heady and desperate. When Hannibal finally came, Will took him as deeply as he could into his mouth, almost into his _throat_, and swallowed.

The taste was bitter on his tongue, and Will had an odd thought about suggesting cinnamon the next time Hannibal tried to cook for him, but Will just tried to ignore the taste (and those thoughts) for the time being. He fell back on his heels, breathing as heavily as he'd predicted.

He realised his own hands were shaking, and that Hannibal's was still in his hair and now gently massaging his scalp with the pads of clever fingers. Will stared at Hannibal's shoes, blinking at them slowly.

Hannibal offered him something red, and Will stared at the handkerchief, completely taken aback. "You need to wipe your mouth." Hannibal said quietly, every word deliberate, and Will almost laughed in a fit of sudden insanity. He felt light-headed, his heart beating faster than he'd felt in a long time, and he could feel his own cock hard and begging for attention in his own pants.

He took the cloth, carefully wiping his lips. "You're very good with your tongue." Hannibal said lightly, taking the cloth back from Will as he held it up, refusing to meet his eyes. The words tumbled from Will's mouth before he'd really thought about them.

"Are you?" He braved a glance to Hannibal's face, noted the ever-so-slight raise of his eyebrows that betrayed surprise. His lips quirked a little into a deliciously twisted smirk, one that made Will's cock give a little lurch in his pants.

"I like to think so."


End file.
